


The Measure of a Man

by lucymonster



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:26:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/pseuds/lucymonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the <a href="http://bleachkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/363.html">Bleach Kink Meme</a> on Dreamwidth. Byakuya is not as shy as his young lieutenant, and loves a woman in control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Measure of a Man

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Shutara/Byakuya- take off your clothes and show me the man you are
> 
> Byakuya is not as shy as his young lieutenant, and loves a woman in control."

There’s a strange gleam in her eyes as she watches him strip away the layers of his uniform, steady and untrembling despite the chill in the air. “Good,” she says. “Now take off your fundoshi too.”

 

“Don’t you think you are being a little forward?” To be sure, it’s not something he would usually say - but then, Kuchiki Byakuya wouldn’t usually be standing all but naked in front of a strange woman with several times her fair share of arms, either. If there’s one thing he’s learned over the past few years, it’s how to adapt his general principles to nearly any scenario - and sadly, this current scenario is far from the strangest he’s encountered in the past few hours, let alone years. Even as he speaks his hand is already moving resignedly to remove the offending garment, folding it neatly and adding it to the pile of discarded clothing at his side.

 

It’s not as though nudity has ever fazed him. Bodies are bodies, and he keeps his well enough that he feels no shame in having it seen.

 

“You surprise me,” says Shutara, already advancing on him with a tape-measure in hand. “I find most men have a touch more modesty about them.”

 

Byakuya, of course, is not most men. “Modesty, or insecurity?” he asks as he raises one arm and then the other over his head in response to her wordless prodding. Truthfully, he’s less concerned with his exposure than he is with the fact that she’s apparently decided to save time and measure his chest and waist simultaneously: perhaps it’s overly conservative, but he finds the extra hands just a little unsettling.

 

Especially when one of them wraps strong, bony fingers around one of his hips as Shutara peers up at him and then casts her glance downwards, slowly, appraisingly. “Perhaps both,” she concedes. “But are you saying that you yourself suffer from neither? You are so convinced of your adequacy?”

 

If ever there were going to be a moment for Byakuya’s convictions to waver it would be now, stark naked so soon after his recent humiliating defeat, with one of the Soul King’s most honoured servants brazenly scrutinising his manhood. They don’t waver, though. “I’ve never found any reason not to be,” he tells her.

 

“I see.” There’s another hand now, reaching down and winding another tape measure loosely around his thigh. The light, fluttering brush of skeletal fingers so close to his groin is startling, and Byakuya finds himself momentarily so distracted by his confusion (is it ticklish? Nauseating? Erotic?) that he doesn’t notice the tightening of her grip on his hip until her sharply filed nails are threatening to break skin. Annoyed, he catches her wrist and pushes it firmly away.

 

“Don’t do that,” he says.

 

She looks back up at him now, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as her gaze rakes over his face in a way that’s starting to make the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. “Confident _and_ headstrong,” she says, and with a swift flick of wrist her hand is out of his grip and disappearing behind her back. “Well, I suppose you’ll suffice.” And before Byakuya can absorb this pronouncement, before he can open his mouth to ask for further explanation, the rest of her hands withdraw as well and set to work on the various fastenings of her own garments.

 

He watches, puzzled and intrigued, as she sheds her clothing with admirable precision and efficiency but with no further comment. And in the moment when her last layer falls away to reveal her lithe frame and small, pert breasts in full, he decides that questioning her motives won’t be necessary.

 

Her sharp eyes do not miss the direction his gaze has drifted. A faint, triumphant smile curls her lips, and then she’s stretching herself back out across the long table, reaching out a hand (one with flesh on it, this time) to grasp his shoulders and pull him down with her. He catches his weight with a hand by her head and they’re inches apart, his hair falling like a curtain about their faces, her breath hot and ticklish on his cheek. And there’s no discussion, no preamble, because why should there be? She seems to know exactly what she wants, and he has no reason not to comply, and when firm pressure on his shoulders pushes him down between her legs, he inhales her scent and allows the heady rush of desire to travel down his spine like lightning.

 

It’s been long enough since he last lay with a woman that he’s not sure he has it in him to oppose her.

 

“Lick.” She could hardly sound more imperious, but the steel edge in her voice only quickens Byakuya’s pulse further as he moves to obey. He likes the hiss of breath between her teeth when his tongue finds her clit, likes the tremor that runs through the muscles of her parted thighs as his attentions take on a slow, methodical rhythm. It’s a little demeaning to be kneeling like this between the legs of a stranger, a soldier, a superior officer he’s known for less than half an hour, but he thinks perhaps he likes that too. He’s certainly getting a lot more out of this than he should, focused wholly on every shift of her hips up into his touch, each barely-audible huff of breath as his attentions begin to stir her in earnest; when fingers finally tighten in his hair and pull his head back, he’s already completely hard and more than a little flushed.

 

It’s been a long time since he’s done this. Longer than he has any intention of telling her. It’s irrelevant, he tells himself firmly - it’s not as if he can’t handle it. And from the look in her eyes, he certainly hasn’t lost any points yet. “You’re more talented than I expected,” Shutara says, and although the words are steady there’s a hint of breathiness in her voice, a husky quaver that makes Byakuya smile despite himself.

 

“If you expected otherwise,” he asks, wiping a hand carelessly over his mouth, “then why are we doing this?”

 

She shrugs - and what happens next he doesn’t know, she moves too fast, but all of a sudden he’s the one lying on his back and she’s straddling him, one hand pinning his arms over his head, another pressed flat against his chest to hold him down, a third stroking his hair back almost tenderly from his face. “New blood is hard to come by in the Royal Realm,” she purrs, and when yet another hand reaches up between his legs from seemingly out of nowhere, he’s glad to be pinned down so that his involuntary startled jump can’t embarrass him. He’s got an awful feeling it’s one of the skeletal hands that’s touching him this time, and it’s simultaneously so strange and so arousing that a shudder courses through his body. Shutara is leaning in again, lips grazing his ear lightly as her weight atop him shifts, lifting up on her knees until she’s positioned perfectly above him. “Frankly,” she continues calmly, “I get bored.”

 

And then she’s plunging down, taking him inside her in one swift, smooth movement, and breath and coherent thought all leave him in a rush.

 

“Do try to contain yourself until I’m finished,” she says, as his hands scrabble uselessly at the hard surface of wood beneath him and he struggles to ground his thoughts away from the hard, ruthless rhythm she’s picking up. “If I wanted any whimpering or untrained eagerness, I’d have taken your lieutenant instead when he came through. He seems the type.”

 

She’s impossibly tight, beautifully wet after the attentions of his mouth, and Byakuya hasn’t had anything like this in so long that his eyes are already scrunched closed, breath turning shallower with each forceful thrust. “Actually, I think Renji has-” Bony fingers are plucking at his nipples, a light but menacing grip catching his throat, and his ears are filled with her sultry, appreciative moan as she tilts her hips forwards to take him deeper. “Never mind,” he gasps, and tries to convince himself that the stinging pain of her nails scraping over his skin is moderating his desire rather than intensifying it.

 

“I see how it is.” For all her professed disinterest in his pleasure, Shutara sounds as though she’s taking considerable enjoyment in the effect she’s having - the rumble in her voice is dangerous, predatory. “More experienced than he seems, that lieutenant of yours, is he? Perhaps I was too hasty in overlooking him.”

 

“I don’t - don’t really-”

 

“Hush.” Her grip tightens on his windpipe, inner walls clenching around him as she drives down harder, faster onto his cock, and there’s nothing Byakuya can do but bite down on his tongue until he tastes blood and try to concentrate on anything other than the urgent clench of heat that’s building low inside him with every surge of her hips. Budget records, mission reports, trivial inter-divisional memos - it’s enough, but only barely, and a low groan of frustration sounds through gritted teeth.

 

The walls of the room seem to spin around them. He loses track of time, holding himself just shy of breaking point on sheer willpower alone, and the only sounds are of heavy breathing and the rhythmic slap of skin on skin. He barely knows where her hands are, conscious only of the erratic sparks of pain where her fingers clench, clawing, gripping, digging into his flesh while she works herself towards her peak. She releases her grip on his throat to brush skeletal fingers between her own legs, stroking and flicking her clit, and a shuddering gasp escapes her throat.

 

“Stay - stay like that,” she orders hoarsely, as though he has a choice, as though she isn’t already pinning him at every possible juncture of his body. “I’m nearly - ah, yes-” And then she’s clamping down so hard on his cock that he’s forgotten his _name_ , it’s like he’s on fire, and everything is reduced to the rippling tremor that runs through her and the single cry that falls from her lips as she comes.

 

Somehow, impossibly, Byakuya rides it out. And then she’s draping herself down over him and they’re skin to skin, hot and slick with sweat; she’s murmuring something in his ear, but he can hardly hear her anymore over the thundering of his pulse and his own panting breath. He focuses on that, sucking in air until the stars fade out from his vision and he regains enough control to open his eyes.

 

She looks down at him, eyes warm with satisfaction and bright with mischief. She shifts atop him just a little and he groans again, hips bucking despite her punishing grip. She’s doing it on purpose, and every muscle in his body is trembling with the effort of holding himself back from release. He mustn’t. Not while he’s still inside her. It’s a disaster waiting to -

 

“You don’t need to worry.” Her voice is low and husky by his ear. “I have ways of taking care of these things.” She’s moving again, slow and steady and Byakuya’s heart is thundering in his chest and then he’s gone, vision washed white, a hoarse cry torn from his throat as he pours out everything in a release that leaves him trembling and gasping for air beneath her.

 

As he comes back down he’s surprised to find his head cradled in a possessive, almost jarringly gentle grip. He’s less surprised to see the tape measure already back in one hand and a damp sponge in another; amused, and placid in the fading glow of his pleasure, he relaxes back and holds out his arms obediently and allows her to wordlessly resume her measurements from this strange, cramped position. Shutara seems satisfied. At the very least, she hasn’t said a word of complaint - and Byakuya is not getting the impression so far that she’s a woman afraid of voicing her mind.

 

“Your confidence was not unfounded,” she tells him matter-of-factly, as she traces the length of his arm with bony fingers that seem to bother him a lot less than they did before. “Come back later, if you like -” she pauses, thoughtful - “and bring your lieutenant with you. We seldom have visitors, so it’s best to make the most of the opportunity.”

 

Her tone brooks no disobedience.

 


End file.
